Chapter 16: The Impending Doom

Arthur stood by the window, watching the sun rise over the Ashborn Estate.

It should have been a beautiful morning. The sky was a pale blue, and frost on the trees glittered.

But currently he was not looking at the scenery. He was looking at the birds.

There were none.

Usually, the morning air was filled with the cawing of crows or the chirping of the birds. Today, the sky was empty. Even the wind itself seemed to be holding its breath.

Static, Arthur noted, rubbing his arm. The hairs on his skin were standing up. The air was dry, but the pressure kept dropping as minutes pass, it feels like a thunderstorm is building, but there are no clouds.

He turned away from the window to grab his clothes. He walked to the wardrobe, pulled a fresh shirt, and tossed it onto the bed.

Then he froze.

He looked at the nightstand next to the bed. Leaning against the wood, untouched, was his cane

Arthur looked down at his legs. He was standing in the middle of the room. He hadn’t limped or stumbled. He didn’t even think about it.

“Is this related to the book or the meeting with the first Ancestor?” Arthur Whispered

He flexed his right leg, the muscle still felt denser, but the constant, gnawing ache that usually greeted him in the morning had faded to a dull, manageable throb.

He was not cured, but still his condition improved by a lot, he wasn’t dragging dead weight anymore.

But his victory was cut short by a sudden, sharp sensation in his chest. It wasn’t pain but Pressure.

It felt like the air in the room had suddenly become heavier. Even the water in the Glass bottle rippled, though nothing had touched it.

“The mana is shifting; The Great Tides are returning”. Magnus’s warning crashed into his mind

Arthur scrambled back to the window. He looked at the horizon; the pale blue sky was definitely darkening.

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“Magnus didn’t just warn me,” He realized, his blood running cold. “He gave me a countdown.” He didn’t waste another second. He grabbed his cane in case he needed it and bolted out of the room.

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Roderick Ashborn sat in the study between the usual stacks of paperwork, a cup of lukewarm coffee next to him. Across from him, Old Marcus stood by the fireplace, stoking the Embers.

“Two days,” Roderick sighed, rubbing his temples. “How can we fix the Iron in just 2 Days??”

“Well, such is life my dear friend. Just convince Sylvia to give you more time” Marcus grunted, not looking back from the fire.